


unstitch that shit i've sewn

by attaboytrevor



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: (vaguely implied at most), Angst, Fake AH Crew, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury, M/M, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 17:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11295555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attaboytrevor/pseuds/attaboytrevor
Summary: It aches with familiarity, the distance Trevor keeps from all of them. Jeremy remembers what it's like to be so starved for touch that even the idea of it hurts, a phantom pain at the brush of a hand, a memory far harsher than the light contact. He knows, so he decides to help.





	unstitch that shit i've sewn

**Author's Note:**

> so i ended up writing some more. good idea? bad idea? who knows! guess we'll just have to see. hope this isn't an absolute mess.
> 
> (the abuse is more inferred than anything, the torture is not seen and not dramatic. there's hurt/comfort, relatively heavy on the comfort. if i've missed anything i really should tag, let me know!)

Jeremy knows what it's like to not really know gentle touch, to not really remember what contact without pain is like. When he notices that Trevor avoids touching anyone, that he flinches when someone even taps him on the shoulder, that he sits on the floor to avoid cramming with the crew on the couch, he knows. He doesn't presume to know  _why_ , he avoids thinking about all the things in Trevor's mysterious past that could have made him see touch as pain, but he knows what it's doing to him. He knows, not just because sometimes Trevor gets this longing look in his eyes when he sees the easy way Michael and Gavin tussle or Geoff and Jack share a hug, but because he was the same way.

He knows Trevor wants it so badly but just doesn't know  _how_  to want it.

He knows Trevor needs it.

When he had needed it, he was lucky enough to find the Fake AH Crew. The Fakes had been the ones to change all of that for Jeremy. They had immersed him in an environment of easy affection and casual touch. It was hard for him, but they didn't rush him, just started small, respected his boundaries, and changed his mind. It had saved him in a lot of ways. Now Jeremy figures he can do the same thing for Trevor; Trevor, who's even warier than Jeremy was at the start ("Fuck, it's like we have another Jeremy, except this one's been stretched way fuckin taller." "Hey, I was never  _this_  bad." "Sure."). 

So he starts small. When he pats Michael on the shoulder, he pats Trevor's shoulder too, making sure he sees the first and that the second is soft and quick. He makes sure Trevor can see his hands when he reaches out slowly to inspect the bruise on his jaw. As he goes to slide behind him, he gently places a hand on his arm, keeping it so Trevor knows where he is as he brushes by.

He and Trevor grow close, even independently of Jeremy's crusade to introduce him to the idea of human contact that doesn't hurt. Trevor's funny, and smart, and talented, and a little bit weird, and he's great. He also snort laughs at Jeremy's dumb puns, helps him with his nefarious plans for fucking with the lads, and hangs out with him in silence when Jeremy doesn't feel like talking. It makes it easier for Jeremy to initiate proximity, and makes it easier for Trevor to trust that Jeremy isn't going to flip a switch and hurt him.

He doesn't startle as easily when Jeremy places a hand on his back or arm, and has all but stopped jerking away when someone accidentally moves by too close. Baby steps, Jeremy thinks. They're getting there. 

The development is slow, but noticeable. It's rare for Trevor to even be the one to touch, so when he starts sometimes patting Michael on the back, or gently shoving a jebby Gavin, or offering Ryan a fist bump, they notice. He always seems unsure, waiting for some kind of retaliation, but the blinding grins he gets in response seem to give him a bit of confidence. Said smiles always seem to soften a bit when he turns away, turning a little bit sad and a little bit hopeful. The crew is happy for the improvement, happy to see that their newest member really is settling in, all in his own time.

 

It’s not a perfect, linear change.

Injuries are hard. They all know that. The instinct to retreat, to stay away from potential threats, is one the entire crew is tragically familiar with. 

Still, there's something heartbreaking about the way Trevor withdraws back into himself, keeping himself out of arms distance from anyone. He doesn't even let anyone check his ribs, and they had, on a number of occasions, caught him doing his own stitches on the edge of the bathtub. It's a boundary that's tough to cross without risking breaking what tenuous trust is there. 

Jeremy tries to help when the injuries are minor, hoping to let him adjust to it, but it's slow going. Luckily Jeremy is patient, and, as Michael reminded him, not all that innocent himself in that respect ("You did the same thing, you know." "Yeah, yeah. I know. It's just... It's really hard seeing someone else do it." "Yeah. It is.").  

When Trevor gets shot though, it's even harder. He has three bullet wounds and not enough blood; it’s not something he can hide from them to deal with himself, and it's not even something he actually could deal with himself, given the way his eyes are equal parts wild and bleary. 

He's tense, every muscle so posed to run that he's trembling all over, and his eyes don't stop surveying the room, keeping everyone and the exits in his sights. It's not even the pain that has him kicking into fight or flight, he barely seems to notice that, but their hands on him; it's Jack gently pressing his shoulders down to the table, it's Ryan holding pressure on the wounds, it's Jeremy trying to calm him with a touch to the arm. The fact that their touch is hurting him more than the three bullets that tore through his body is heartbreaking and horrifying and distressing and _sad_.

When they're done stitching him back together, Trevor flees to his room and locks the door behind him. Jeremy just stares at the blood on his hands and the blood on the table and tries not to think about the fact that Trevor wouldn't even take any painkillers. 

The kindest thing to call it would be a setback. Trevor stays holed up in his room for the most part, only occasionally joining the others, usually to insist that he can work and that he is  _fine_ , really. All Jeremy can see is how far away he stands from everyone, how he angles his injuries away. It's like all his defenses have slammed back up after literally being shot down.

Jeremy thinks about blood on his hands, and keeps his distance.

It isn't until after Trevor's first mission back, the first one that Geoff doesn't immediately refuse, that said distance is closed. Everything went well, not a single injury, and they were all back to the penthouse, ready to celebrate. Jeremy feels the wavering uncertainty in the way Trevor grabs his shoulder, sees it in the way his smile doesn't crinkle the corner of his eyes, but when Jeremy grins with full force and returns the gesture, Trevor relaxes. Jeremy lets out the breath he had been holding for weeks. 

Obligatory crew movie night follows. Everyone is smushed together, legs tangling and arms flailing as everyone gets comfortable. Trevor is sat between Jeremy and the arm of the couch, still not quite comfortable with the amount of touch involved with being near the center of the mass of people. They sit as close together as they can, touching from hip to knee, and Jeremy casually throws his arm around Trevor's shoulders. He can feel the way Trevor leans back, presses closer, so he wraps his arm tighter. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Geoff smile softly at them, relieved, before all eyes turn to the TV. 

 

Jeremy wakes up to his own hand clamping down over his mouth, muffling a yell that just started to break free. He's shaking, and his brain won't stop flashing  _blood pain please knife gun shot more pain_  and it's been so long since he's had a nightmare this bad. He wants to vomit, wants to stay stock still, wants to run, wants to hide, but he's trembling all over and he  _can't_ - 

His door opens, and a lanky shape slips in. There's a moment where he can tell Trevor hesitates, and Jeremy tries to get out a plea for something, but then Trevor is there. He slots in next to Jeremy, flush against him, and curls an arm around his neck. He pulls Jeremy's hand away from his mouth, and Jeremy doesn't let go, instead interlacing their fingers in a white knuckle grip. Trevor doesn't move away, just pulls Jeremy closer and starts muttering reassurances into the air. 

By the time Jeremy's heart has stopped pounding and his body feels less like it's about to shake apart, he realizes there's another shape in the doorway. Jack's watching them, and he can't make out the look on her backlit face, but she doesn't seem worried. She used to be the one who would shake Jeremy from his nightmares, some sixth sense that she has always lets her know when they happen.

These days it's Trevor, emerging from his locked room next door to just lay near him until he fell back asleep. He's helped him through more and more bad nights recently. This was different though; this kind of dream, the kind of dream that no one had ever been able to really bring him down from, had been left behind ages ago. This was new territory for them. Yet here was Trevor, terrified of touch Trevor, who only hesitated a moment before being there. 

He thinks he can just make out a smile on Jack’s face as she turns away, closing the door behind her. He closes his eyes.

 

Jeremy waits for something to happen. He’s not constantly expecting a setback or a blockade, but the possibility of it crosses his mind sometimes, of Trevor pushing him away when a boundary is broken. He hopes the day doesn’t come again. The thought of Trevor reverting to his old habits, secreting away wounds and hurts, turning himself inwards, is painful. It was difficult then, but now it feels like it could kill them both, being cleaved apart by fear like that. They’ve come too far. So Jeremy waits and watches and sometimes worries.

Something does happen.

They get taken. A heist gone bad, a dispute with a rival crew, and a hell of a lot of miscommunication results in an incomplete getaway. They're separated, potentially not even in the same building, but Jeremy listens as hard as he can and hopes that the silence means he's the only one, that Trevor got out.

There are days. Days that Jeremy knows he doesn't want to remember, ones full of pain and hunger and exhaustion. It's not the worst, not by a long shot, but it sucks. He hasn't seen or heard Trevor, or about Trevor. He’s alone and tired and just hoping that Trevor isn’t. Thankfully, after all those days, the crew shows up. (An understatement. They arrive in a flurry of guns and fire and anger. It's a beautiful sight to behold.)

It's like Jeremy blinks, and all those days are gone, and Trevor is standing just a few paces away, bruised but not broken. They’re free.

Before he can think, Jeremy has closed the space between them and is hugging him, arms tight around Trevor's too-thin waist. Abruptly he has the thought that  _shit, he's fucked it up, this will be it, he shouldn't just grab him like that, especially after_ \- but before he can pull away Trevor is hugging him too, hands gripping at his back. Jeremy is torn between grinning and crying, just happy his face is hidden in Trevor's sternum.

‘ _Oh_ ,’ he thinks, somewhere in the back of his brain, and holds him a little bit tighter.

 

It gets easier.

Trevor hasn't slept in days, which isn't unusual, but he's running a fever and on next to no food. It takes some coaxing, but Jeremy manages to convince him to relax on the couch for 10 minutes, 20 at most, maybe the length of an episode of Futurama. Within minutes, he's blinking blearily and leaning against Jeremy's shoulder, and, with a bit of maneuvering, he's soon curled up with his head in Jeremy's lap. 

Jeremy turns the volume way down, and gently rubs circles into Trevor's shoulder and neck, feeling him settle in more and more every minute. He stays like that for two hours, watching near silent cartoons and maintaining reassuring contact.

When he runs his hand through Trevor's hair, Trevor slowly arches into the touch like a cat, even as he lazily bats at Jeremy's hand and mumbles something incoherent about not messing up his hair. Jeremy just smiles fondly at him, and rubs his thumb in circles at the base of Trevor's skull, and soon enough he's sighing back into sleep, resting just a bit heavier onto Jeremy's thighs. He doesn't mind. 

Moments like these build up in Jeremy’s mind. Sure, Trevor’s gotten better with touch with everyone (he’ll always be a bit closed off, but the difference is so, so vast), but _this_ is reserved for Jeremy. This level of cautious trust, this carefully given faith. No one else gets this vulnerability, and there’s something about that that makes Jeremy’s heart do something in his chest. A lot of somethings, he thinks.

He and Trevor keep moving closer naturally, comfortably. Jeremy catalogues the ways like he always has: Trevor not flinching at a touch on the shoulder, Trevor willingly accepting help with a burn on his arm, Trevor leaning on him as he laughs at Gavin’s outrage, Trevor resting back into his chest as they lay on the couch. He gets the same rush of happiness from Trevor tangling their legs as he did from the first time Trevor let him pat him on the back.

The joy is tinged with something _more_ now, but even that’s not new, just more intense. He knows that _more_ is going somewhere, sees it reflected back to him in Trevor’s face, but he’s content to let it go at its own pace. Taking things slow has worked so far. Something will happen, all in its own time. All in _their_ own time.

It happens in a rush of enthusiasm, them caught up in a moment. Suddenly Jeremy's hand is on the back of Trevor’s neck, the other on his jaw, and he’s dragging him down to meet his lips. They’re both grinning into it, smiling even as they kiss. Full with the feeling that this is how it’s supposed to be, them. Even as they manage to pull away for a moment, they’re beaming at each other. Jeremy gently holds Trevor’s head, presses their foreheads together, and laughs softly. Their cheeks are flush with excitement and giddiness.

“Yeah,” he manages to say out loud, a little breathless, "That's- yeah."

“Yeah?” Trevor returns, that smile still in his voice.

“Yeah,” Jeremy affirms, blinking another look at those warm brown eyes before pressing his starving lips back to Trevor’s.

 

They touch, and there's no pain.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr also exists at [attaboytrevor](https://attaboytrevor.tumblr.com/). feel free to message me as you please  
> (title is from 'putting the dog to sleep' - the antlers)


End file.
